


Poetry in Motion

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [272]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: Our lads celebrate St. Patrick's Day with their family.





	Poetry in Motion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Floral45768](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floral45768/gifts), [sterekwolfstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterekwolfstar/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane and Laura McEwan for posting to the Master Apprentice ML  
> Travis for posting to the Master Apprentice Archive on AO3   
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia 
> 
> Our lads celebrate St. Patrick's Day:  
> 1) [St. Patrick's Play](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1793587)  
> 2) [Charming](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1843609) \-- starring the little shamrock  
> 3) [Green](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1397446)  
> 4) [Sir Obi-Gawain and the Green Knight ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6276046)  
> 5) [A Mellow St. Patrick's Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10150133)
> 
> The little shamrock and clover:  
> [St. Patrick's Play](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1793587) \- the first mention of the little shamrock  
> [Anniversary Surprise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4948819) \-- the first mention of the little four-leaf clover
> 
> References:  
> [Endymion by Oscar Wilde](http://www.bartleby.com/143/30.html)  
> [Wilde Night ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1907883)  
> [Orbital Anomaly](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1798081)  
> [Aikido - Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aikido)  
> [The Garden Of Eros by Oscar Wilde](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-garden-of-eros/)  
> [Irish cuisine - Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irish_cuisine)  
> [Carnations | Garden Guides](https://www.gardenguides.com/article-carnations.html)  
> [W. B. Yeats bibliography - Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._B._Yeats_bibliography)  
> [Meaning of Green Carnations | Garden Guides](https://www.gardenguides.com/129906-meaning-green-carnations.html)  
> [Ego Dominus Tuus - Poem by William Butler Yeats](http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/william_butler_yeats/poems/10492)  
> [Sailing to Byzantium by W. B. Yeats](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/sailing-byzantium)
> 
> This story puts Academic Arcadia over the 500,000 word mark. Couldn't have done it without [obi1mcgregor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/obi1mcgregor/pseuds/obi1mcgregor) and the encouragement of all my friends here.

"...That is our modern hope, and by its light  
We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind..."

On Saturday, March 17th, a spellbound Ian sat in the second pew of Luke Chapel, listening to his husband bring a poem by William Butler Yeats to life. Quinn stood tall at the lectern of the chapel, a few feet away from the spot where they had gotten married in 2011. Of course, he looked born to be in front of a lectern, after almost twenty years of teaching at Luke.

Quinn was one of four professors honoring Irish writers of the Victorian era on St. Patrick's Day. The other speakers were fellow Luke professors, who were presenting selections from Oscar Wilde, Aubrey Thomas De Vere, and Douglas Hyde.

Quinn was wearing his brown corduroy jacket with cinnamon suede patches on the elbows; a white button-down Oxford shirt; a forest-green tie that Ian had knotted for him, using the little four-leaf clover as a tie tack; bark-brown slacks, which he'd had custom-tailored because of his majestic dimensions; his new Celtic Knot belt from the Founders' Day celebration in Alder Run; freshly shined Clarks' dress shoes. He sported a green miniature carnation in the buttonhole on the jacket's collar, symbolizing nature and good health, as well as a nod to St. Patrick's Day. Oscar Wilde had added another layer of meaning to the green carnation, using it as an unspoken affirmation of gay love.

Ian had on his cream corduroy jacket with brown suede patches on the elbows; a white button-down Oxford shirt; an emerald-green tie that Quinn had knotted for him, using the little shamrock as a tie tack; tan slacks, which showcased his athletic build; his new Celtic Knot belt from the Founders' Day celebration in Alder Run; freshly shined Clarks' dress shoes. He sported a white miniature carnation in the buttonhole on the jacket's collar, symbolizing true love and good luck, perfect for St. Patrick's Day, perfect as a tangible declaration of love to his husband.

One set of parents sat on each side of Ian, equally enthralled by Quinn's rendition. There was no photography permitted in the chapel, or all of them would have taken Quinn's picture by now. He was reciting 'Ego Dominus Tuus', a part of his tribute to Yeats on the holiday. The text of the poems was on the lectern, but Quinn had no need to read it; he had committed them to memory decades ago. He had chosen to finish his performance this way, after an impressive recitation of his favorites of Yeats' work:

'Lake Isle of Innisfree'  
'Sailing to Byzantium'  
'The Wild Swans at Coole'

After the last words rang out over the chapel, Ian applauded with his family and colleagues. They filed out of the pew to meet Quinn, and Ian's eyes shone when John clapped his son on the back. As soon as they went out the door, all the cell phones were raised to take pictures. Their folks' favorite turned out to be one of Ian and Quinn with their hair streaming in the breeze, copper and chestnut blending together. When Professor Mundee stopped by to greet them, he graciously took a photo of the whole clan.

"So where would you like to eat dinner?" asked Quinn, always mindful of the true priorities of life.

Ginny chuckled; she knew her son through and through. "How 'bout that new restaurant in Danton? A little place called The Archeon Pub?"

"Sounds great, Mom." Quinn raised a questioning eyebrow to the group, and after they all nodded, he said, "Let's go."

Ian made reservations for them on his cell phone; 7 pm was the earliest time available for booking, but that was in half an hour, and the ride would take about twenty minutes. The grass was carpeted with snow, but the parking lot and sidewalks were shoveled.

On the way to the Prentices' Audi Q7 SUV, where the six of them would ride together, Ian said, "St. Patrick's Day is usually considered a harbinger of springtime, but here in Alder Run, winter is almost always still in full swing."

"And just a week and a half ago," John said, "your very own winter storm roared on through, son." He was referring to Winter Storm Quinn, which had pounded not only Alder Run, but also Padua and the Mastersons' hometown of Florrum Park. "We've gotten quite a kick out of its name."

"So appropriate," said Ginny teasingly, and the whole family chuckled, including Quinn.

"And here I like to think of myself as very mild-mannered," Quinn said with a wink.

"Oh, I don't know, you should see yourself during a four-direction throw at the dojo," Ian said with a crooked grin.

Ginny nodded, with vivid memories of Quinn honing his martial arts' skills at aikido exhibitions when he was growing up.

Keith drove them to Danton, using the GPS to guide him, and Quinn had another opportunity to see where Ian had learned his expert driving skills. When they arrived, everyone was delighted by the ambiance of the Archeon Pub. Gleaming hardwood floors, wainscotting, and tables; forest-green wallpaper with tiny bursts of colorful flowers; all lit by pewter sconces.

They had to wait about fifteen minutes, despite their reservations, because of the large amount of patrons waiting to be seated. After all, it was not only St. Patrick's Day at an Irish pub, but it was also a Saturday night. They sat on a bench, watching the Luke Skyhawks trouncing the Darthmouth Maulers in basketball until they were called up to the host's podium. Then he ushered them to a round table for six near a fieldstone fireplace. The couples sat together, with Ian and Quinn facing the hearth. They were given special menus for the holiday with a watercolor shamrock adorning the top of it.

To Quinn's delight, one of the specials was lamb stew, which was a rare treat for him; it was served with a side of boxty, a delicious potato pancake. He decided to order it, and his enthusiasm convinced Jo and John to choose it, as well. Ian was intrigued by a dish whimsically called The Dublin Lawyer -- lobster cooked in whiskey and cream -- that was paired with buttered chives and leeks. Ginny and Keith joined him in ordering it.

The meal would not have been complete without drinks to toast the holiday. Ian and John went with Bushmills Whiskey, while Jo and Keith decided on Harp Lager, and Ginny and Quinn chose to order Guinness Stout. And they all agreed that Bailey's-Irish-Cream cake would make the perfect dessert.

Their waitress brought over glasses of water, a Belleek pitcher for refills, and two loaves of brown soda bread with whipped butter, then took their orders. They chatted while waiting for their drinks, with the bread disappearing as rapidly as the butter melted on it. They sat back in their chairs, ready for a lively conversation, and Quinn did not disappoint them.

First of all, he raised his mug of Guinness in a toast. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, me teaghlaigh (family)!"

All of them echoed Quinn's toast, with the Scottish contingent pronouncing 'teaghlaigh' perfectly, since the word in Scottish Gaelic was almost identical.

"And poetry was the perfect way to celebrate the holiday," said Keith, patting his wife's hand.

Jo squeezed his fingers and said, "I loved your performance, Quinn. 'Sailing to Byzantium' is one of my favorite poems." She said from memory, just as Quinn had earlier:

'...Such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make  
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling  
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;  
Or set upon a golden bough to sing  
To lords and ladies of Byzantium...'

"For some reason, that's always intrigued me, even when I was a schoolgirl."

"Yes, the blend of nature and artifice is fascinating, Jo," said Quinn. "When I've taught that in my Victorian poetry course - "

The waitress came over with their entrees, and Quinn stopped talking in mid-sentence, thanking her and digging into his food almost instantly, after perfunctorily blowing on it. Declamation was hungry work. They concentrated on their food for the next little while.

After John finished the last bite of lamb, he said, "I loved Professor McEwan's selection of Oscar Wilde's poetry," and Ginny nodded at her husband with a smile. "He's one of Ireland's finest."

Ginny said, "Yes, he is, sweetheart. My favorite lines were from Wilde's 'Endymion':

'The apple trees are hung with gold,   
And birds are loud in Arcady'.

She continued, "Just perfect for the advent of springtime."

Quinn's eyes sparkled; his parents' glowing praise of Oscar Wilde was balm to his spirit. He could tell it was more than simple admiration for Wilde's work; it also had the feel of an apology fourteen years in the making. He thought back to 2004, the first time both sets of parents had attended a performance at the Luke Playhouse with Ian and him. It was 'The Importance of Being Earnest' by Wilde, and after the play when all six of them went to a restaurant, just like they had today, his parents had made derogatory remarks about Wilde because of his orientation.

Now, nearly a decade and a half later, the difference was extraordinary. Here they were chatting about Wilde and revering him as the national treasure Quinn had said him to be back then. He was amazed at the progress all of them had made during that time.

Ian was beaming, as well; he also had vivid memories of the Mastersons' barbed comments after that play so long ago. It had been his first real exposure to their homophobia, since at that point, they hadn't known Quinn and he were gay. To hear them talk this way now was something he never could have imagined back then.

When dessert came, it was literally the icing on the cake. Each couple shared a slice of the Irish-Cream cake, and Ian was mindful not to get any cream on his lips, what with them being surrounded by their parents. When the waitress brought the check, Quinn discreetly paid it.

"What a wonderful meal, son! Thank you very much," John said heartily.

The others added their thanks, then Keith drove all of them home.

The men were tired when they returned to Alder Run, so it was lucky that the pups were staying overnight at the Changs. They took off their clothes, used separate bathrooms -- with the courtly Quinn heading for the one up the hallway -- then got into bed, wearing only their pajama bottoms. Somehow, their goodnight kiss turned into a provocative one, though, and they were suddenly more awake.

"What's your pleasure tonight, ma gradh?" Ian asked with a blue-green gleam.

Quinn smiled hungrily, as though he hadn't just eaten like an ancient Irish chieftain. "I'd like a taste of you, me boyo."

Ian went from half-hard to durasteel in seconds. He threw off the covers and pulled his pajama pants down, as if Quinn were timing him with a stopwatch. Quinn rolled on top of him, giving him a passionate kiss, then kissing his way down Ian's chest and stomach, until he reached his groin. He planted his elbows on either side of Ian's hips for balance. The delectable sounds Ian made when he nuzzled the coarse hairs there could have tempted a Jedi monk. Ian's cock bumped him on the chin, decorating him with precome and urging him to take it in his mouth. He grinned crookedly as he thought of Ian's adventures with icing when they were eating by themselves.

Quinn suckled the glans lovingly, coaxing out pearly droplets for him to drink. He ran his hands down to the root and back again, with his thumbs nudging the balls while he was teasing the tip with little licks. The calluses were rough over Ian's skin, and his lad started grunting. Quinn took more of Ian into his mouth and kissed, dabbed, and sucked every inch of it. When Quinn swirled his tongue around the foreskin, Ian howled and came in vigorous gushes, with Quinn doing his best to swallow it all. Some of the semen dripped down his chin, so he wiped it off with the back of one unsteady hand and pillowed his head on Ian's trembling thigh.

"Wow!" Ian said, when he could talk again. "You're amazing; you know that, right?"

Quinn creaked himself up to lie on his side of the bed. "Oh, laddie, you're the one who's amazin'." He had almost no energy left, but his cock apparently had ideas of its own and stood tall, straining the flannel of his pajama bottoms.

Ian had just pulled his own pants back up and was finally in a state to notice Quinn's tantalizing erection. "Mmmmm. What've we got here?" he teased. He turned on his side, so he could reach Quinn's penis with his fingers. He undid the snaps with a mischievous grin and took him authoritatively in hand. "Good?" he asked, lavishing him with firm strokes, his palm slick with pre-come but Quinn's cock still secure in his gymnast's grip. His fingertips occasionally teased over Quinn's balls, making him shiver.

"Perfect," Quinn rumbled. He pushed himself even further into Ian's hand, eager for every sensation his lad could give him.

Ian grinned at him as he was giving him pleasure -- they shared joy between them, while the Living Force crested around them. Since Quinn was excited before Ian had lain a finger on him, it didn't take long at all for him to groan out his orgasm. Ian managed to get to his lips in time to kiss him while he was still coming.

Then both of them lay back down side by side, with Quinn reaching for a tissue on the night stand to clean both of them and Ian drawing up the covers. Tension drained out of them, while their panting slowly subsided along with their cocks.

"'Twas wonderful to hear my parents speak so highly of Wilde tonight, m'lad." Quinn gave out a happy sigh.

Ian grinned. "All we could ask for."

"I'm glad I didn't mention a particular poem of Wilde's to my folks, though," Quinn snorted, "and I think you can figure out why. Remember 'The Garden of Eros'?"

Ian started to laugh. "Oh, I'm so happy you didn't recite it. I can just see their faces." He quoted:

"...Danced on by the lads of Arcady!  
The hidden secret of eternal bliss  
Known to the Grecian here a man might find,  
Ah! you and I may find it now if Love and Sleep be kind..."

"I think it's safe to say we have found bliss together here in Arcady, my lad," said Quinn.

Ian said, "And I have the feeling Oscar would heartily approve."


End file.
